Red
by TheRealThong
Summary: A string of piracies threatens to topple the Hutt's trade. With the offer of a treay Jabba calls in the Republic, and Knight Kenobi is sent to investigate... But what he discovers has far-reaching impacts on the galaxy, and will change everything. Way AU.
1. Prologue

_Tatooine, 25 BBY_

"Captain, we're coming out of hyperspace now." One of the many men who piloted the _Kappa_-class shuttle _Ono_ turned and faced his captain. "Orders?"

"Bring us planetside." The captain commanded. "We'll drop off our cargo, get our pay, and then we can enjoy ourselves."

"Yes, Captain." The man replied, turning back to his controls, passing the order along to his comrades.

The captain leaned back in his chair, smirking. Very soon he would deliver the cargo full of spices to Jabba the Hutt. The credits for this job would let him retire and he could wash his hands of the filthy Hutt forever. A nice villa on Alderaan, maybe, or Naboo, somewhere under the Republic's control, somewhere he would be safe from his enemies. The captain felt his smirk grow. Oh yes, the sooner his men reached Tatooine, the better.

"Sir, the scanners have picked up a small ship behind us." A narrow- faced Rodian called. His Basic was garbled and broken, but it was passable enough. The captain repressed a shudder. Whatever world he chose to retire on, he would make certain that the inhabitants spoke Basic.

"It's probably just another cargo load." The captain assured his crew. "His Mightiness has quite a booming business, you know."

Several of the crew members chuckled and nodded, relaxing. None of them used their real names, if they used any at all. They knew each other only by faces. In their line of work, names were a dangerous thing to give away. The captain didn't care who worked on his ship; they were all going to be dead in a few hours anyway, or sold off into slavery. The deal the captain had with Jabba meant that every time he brought spices back to the Hutt, he would get all the money. There would be no dividing it amongst the crew members, no haggling and bargaining. Jabba would sell the crew into slavery or have them fight to death in one of his arenas while the captain got rich.

Tatooine grew in the window, a swirling mass of dry browns and yellows. _Almost there. _The captain smiled. _So close. _

That was when the _Ono_ groaned loudly and rattled, nearly dislodging the captain from his chair. Everyone looked around, bewildered, for the source of the commotion.

"We're being shot at!" The narrow- faced Rodian screamed. "That ship is shooting at us!"

"Put up the shields!" The captain bellowed. "Quickly, quickly! Once we enter the atmosphere, they won't dare follow!"

"Shields are up!" Someone cried below.

"We're going at full speed!" Another shouted.

"How far until we reach the atmosphere?" The captain demanded. Another blast rocked the shuttle and the lights flickered. The shields were losing power rapidly.

"Not far, sir!"

"Then move your damned asses! I want this bucket of bolts going at maximum!"

"Yes, sir!" The crew tried to coax every bit of power they could find from the engines, but with the enemy ship bearing down on them and blasts rocking the _Ono_, the shields were sucking up too much power.

"Faster!" The captain practically screamed. He mentally damned himself for not mending the shuttle's cannons; they were locked in the forward position, and now it was too late to turn around and fight back.

"The shields are gonna give!" The Rodian screeched. The _Ono _trembled as if to emphasize his point. The attacking ship was right on top of the shuttle, shooting with deadly precision, whittling away at the shield with all the strength they had in their guns.

"To the escape pods!" The captain howled, desperate. The _Ono_ was going to give before they reached the atmosphere and Jabba's protection, the spices would be lost, but some profit could still be made from the crew.

"The shields are gone!" Someone screamed. The shuttle itself was taking the brunt of the blasts and pieces of it could be seen tearing off into space from the window. The _Ono _was rocking and shuddering furiously, breaking apart even as the crew scrambled to the pods. The captain reached for the locks, ready to disengage them and open the pods. He stopped for a brief second to look out the window, watching his shuttle falling to pieces, and saw a single proton torpedo, outdated by at least a decade, hurtling towards the window. With a sound like crunching bones, the torpedo punched through the window, shattering it, and careered through the ship, tearing out the other side and erupting into a fireball that illuminated everything. The captain was thrown into the wall, his body clattering and breaking with the force off the impact. He choked on blood, dazed, and found that he could barely breathe.

Space rushed in the _Ono_ and gravity and lights went out, but the shell of the ship and several of its inhabitants were burning, casting flikering light into the dying cargo ship. Floating inside the fractured shuttle, the captain watched his attackers descend in their ship, blood dripping into his eyes. In the ghostly firelight, surrounded y his dead, dying crew, his lungs collapsing, the captain managed to make out the name on the side of the ship that bore down onto the _Ono_. He took a shuddering breath, the last his body could manage, and silently prayed to the smuggler's gods for mercy.

The _Red Lady_ descended on her prey.

***

"Cap, she's loaded!" A merry- faced man on the _Red Lady_ smiled and clapped a tall man on the shoulder. "We hit a big one, my friend."

Standing on the bridge of his small, deadly ship, Anakin Skywalker smiled. "Yes we did, Kitster. Yes we did."


	2. One

_Coruscant, 24 BB_

Seated in his high- backed chair, Chancellor Palpatine of the Galactic Republic surveyed the bustling traffic that swarmed over the surface of the planet. Behind him, a delegation of Senators and Masters Mace Windu and Yoda of the Jedi Council waited patiently for him to speak.

"Play the transmission again." Palpatine ordered, rubbing his temples. He turned his chair around to face the people in his office.

"Certainly." Sly Moore went and played the transmission for perhaps the fourth or fifth time that day.

"_Greetings, Chancellor of the Galactic Republic." _Jabba the Hutt's massive body wavered, his gravelly Huttese translated by a silvery protocol droid. _"The mighty Jabba requests your assistance. A gang of pirates has been raiding the cargo ships of his Mighiness and taking away valuable supplies."_

"Illegal spices and contraband, he means." One of the Senators, the Corellian Garm Bel Iblis muttered.

"_His Mightiness is willing to make a treaty between the clan of the Hutts and the Republic." _Every politician in the room tensed, with the exception of the Chancellor. _"The Hutt clan wants the pirate captain and as many of his crew as possible, all of them alive. If his Mightiness receives the living pirates, he will make a treaty that will end the tensions between his clans and the Republic. Trade routes would be opened and his Mightiness is willing to allow Republic outposts to be established on many of the worlds he and his clans control."_

Several of the gathered Senators shifted excitedly; an opportunity to make peace with the powerful Hutts and expand the influence of the Republic was a rare occurrence and very welcome.

"_His Mightiness will allow one planetary rotation for you to decide,, Chancellor. Make sure your decision is the right one." _Jabba and the protocol droid dissolved, signaling the end of the transmission.

"So there you have it." Palpatine steepled his fingers and looked around at the gathered Senators and Jedi. "Jabba the Hutt is willing to form a lasting treaty with the Republic for the heads of a few pirates."

"Why should we care if the Hutt is having pirate trouble?" Bel Iblis asked softly. "He is a smuggler, a murderer, and a slaver. The Republic has other issues to deal with. The Separatist movement is gaining strength daily and we are losing systems left and right. Why should we spare valuable Jedi?"

"Gaining the Hutts as allies would help strengthen the Republic." Senator Amidala of Naboo pointed out. "We would be able to rally many new Outer Rim worlds to join the Republic, worlds rich in resources. And the Hutts control a vast amount of trade routes; access to these would make moving supplies easier."

Palpatine inclined his head to the young Senator. "I do believe that Senator Amidala is correct. We need this alliance. It will strengthen the Republic, something we need in these times."

"So you agree to this?" Master Windu eyed the Chancellor, his expression severe. "This plan requires a Jedi to become little more than a bounty hunter. Pirates are scum, yes, but the Jedi are not the ones who should deal with them. The Hutts have their own methods of dealing with pirates; why isn't Jabba using those?"

"Apparently, these are no ordinary pirates." Palpatine said dryly. "Jabba _has_ been trying for a year to rid himself of the gang. He has placed a bounty of several million credits on one live _crewmember_. Information leading to the whereabouts or capture of a crewmember will earn someone three million Huttese credits. So far, no credits have been given. No one knows who any of the pirates are, what they look like, or where they hide. The captain is a legend, a mystery. No one even knows what species he is."

"So he wants a Jedi to find out." Senator Amidala summarized. Palpatine nodded.

"The Jedi are renowned for their ability to find those who do not wish to be found, Master Windu." Palpatine said gently. "Jabba is desperate. His empire is declining because he is losing profits. Any business man or crime lord would be worried."

"Bounty hunters, the Jedi are not." Master Yoda said.

"True." Palpatine dipped his graying head. "But this alliance with Jabba would strengthen the Republic, something we need now that Count Dooku is gaining followers. I am sorry, Master Yoda, but I must ask for the help of the Jedi."

Yoda closed his eyes. "One Jedi, we will send. No more."

Palpatine nodded agreeably. "One Jedi should be enough to hunt down the pirates. I assume that once the Jedi finds something, others can be called in to help with the actual capture?"

Master Yoda nodded his agreement.

"I would like to send Jedi Knight Kenobi." Palpatine said.

"Why?" Master Windu looked up sharply.

"Knight Kenobi has a nearly spotless record." The Chancellor pointed out. "He knows what he is doing. He is an excellent Jedi, one well- suited to this particular mission."

"True, this is." Yoda conceded. "A good Jedi Obi- Wan is. On this mission, he will go."

"Excellent." Chancellor Palpatine smiled gently. "Hopefully this matter can be resolved with minimal effort, and the Republic can have itself a new ally."

"We shall go and speak to Knight Kenobi." Windu declared. He bowed politely to the Chancellor. "Good day, Chancellor. We will keep you informed."

The two Jedi Masters left the Chancellor's office, the door whooshing softly behind them.

"Do you really think that a few pirate heads will earn us the allegiance of the Hutts?" Bail Organa's voice was soft, worried. "Dealings with them have been risky at best. They might not uphold their end of the bargain."

Palpatine smiled benignly. "Senator Organa, the Hutts are desperate. I am quite sure that they will do whatever it takes to eliminate the pirate threat."

"Who will negotiate the peace treaty?" Senator Amidala stepped forward, her face bright with keen interest.

"You and Senator Organa are both rather good at negotiations and treaties." Palpatine said indulgently. "When the time comes, it shall be your responsibility."

"As you wish, Chancellor." Amidala inclined her head. For such a young woman, one of only twenty-two, she seemed to handle stress rather well.

The Senators all shuffled out, talking amongst themselves. The prospect of new allies excited them, Palpatine knew. Turning back to the bustling heart of Coruscant, the Chancellor steepled his fingers once more. There was something intriguing about the pirates, particularly their mysterious captain. Palpatine resolved to have Dooku keep an ear out for reports of the pirates as well as the Jedi. After all, the prospect of new allies _was_ exciting.

And the Sith Lord smiled. _Oh yes. _He thought. _Very exciting indeed._


	3. Two

_Coruscant, 24 BB_

Obi-Wan Kenobi was not happy. Technically, he was rarely happy, but he was usually at least calm. Tranquil. At peace. But at this particular moment, he was utterly confused and more than slightly annoyed.

He supposed that his current feelings had something to do with the fact that his last mission had involved a drunken thief, a spoiled royal from a backwater planet, and a rather inconveniently-placed nest of incredibly foul-tempered Gundarks. The bite wounds were now fully healed, but Obi-Wan still limped a little. Gundarks were not creatures to meddle with, apparently.

And now the entire Jedi Council was at his door, telling him to forget about meditation and rest and go to the Outer Rim on a pirate hunt with no leads and no information.

No, Obi-Wan Kenobi was most definitely not happy. And his leg was starting to hurt again.

"Knight Kenobi, this task is vital to the Republic." Shaak Ti said, her hands clasped loosely behind her back. "Jabba the Hutt is powerful and he would make a vital ally."

"You have had harder missions, Obi-Wan." Mace Windu's tone was firm. "Pirates might be able to outsmart a Hutt, but a Jedi? It will not take too long for you to locate the pirate captain, contact us, and aid in the capture."

"I would be honored to accept." Obi-Wan said placidly. He didn't really have a choice in the matter and arguing with the Jedi Council was something that was more suited to Qui-Gon, not him. "When do I leave?"

If the Council was taken aback, none of the members showed it, aside from a look of pleasure in Kit Fisto's eyes and a flash of surprise on Pablo-Jill's face.

"Tomorrow morning." Master Windu informed Obi-Wan. "This mission is of top priority."

"Of course, Master Windu." Obi-Wan replied. "Is there anything I need to know?"

"Know little about these pirates, we do." Master Yoda said gravely. Obi- Wan peered down at the diminutive Master. "Very mysterious they are. Striking, running, hiding. Very clever, these pirates. Very careful, you must be. Only find the pirates. Engage them, do not. Fight them, do not."

"Yes, Master Yoda." Obi-Wan bowed to the old Master.

"That will be all, then." Shaak Ti said, clearly satisfied. "You may return to your business, Knight Kenobi. Be at the eastern transport docks by 0800."

The Jedi Council left Obi-Wan's room, filing out neatly. Some of them, like Pablo-Jill and Shaak Ti, looked surprised, as if they had come expecting a fight. Masters Yoda and Windu looked relatively pleased. Obi-Wan smiled a little, a harsh and bitter sort of smile. The Masters would get no rise from him, not now. It had been a long time since Qui-Gon died on Naboo and longer still since his rebellious Initiate years. He would not argue with the Jedi Council now. It would not bring Qui-Gon back. It would not bring his friends back from their missions nor make them Initiates again, wild, carefree, and happy. Arguing with the Council would only undo years of hard work, of good behavior. And that was unacceptable.

The door to his rooms slid shut behind the Council, leaving Obi-Wan alone. Stiffly he walked towards the refresher, keen on getting clean after spending a month out in the Outer Rim, where cleanliness had varied meanings to the beings who inhabited the planets.

The water that cascaded from his shower was lukewarm and soothing, relaxing his aching muscles. The bite wounds on his shin had healed into white, ragged scars. Over the years, Obi-Wan had acquired a wide variety of scars. It was an occupational hazard for Jedi, he supposed. Not all planets were friendly towards the Order.

_Is it too much to ask for a week or two of relative relaxation? _Obi-Wan asked silently. _Some time alone, time to meditate? _Lately the young Knight had been feeling out of tune with the Force, as though someone had thrown a rock into a pond, disturbing the smooth surface. Meditation would correct the disturbances, Obi-Wan knew, and while meditation could be achieved on a ship, the kind he was hoping for could only be found in the Room of the Thousand Fountains.

Shutting off the water, Obi-Wan grabbed the nearest towel and dried himself off, aware that his damp hair was sticking up wildly. He stepped out of the 'fresher and into his bedroom, blinking groggily. It was getting late; no time for dinner or evening meditation. The warm shower had put Obi-Wan in a sleepy state and he was too tired to even go make himself some tea. Yanking on a pair of sleep pants and a loose shirt, the tired Jedi Knight made his way to the bed.

It was very comfortable, he noticed, more comfortable than it normally was. Of course, anything was more comfortable than the beds on a ship or a floor.

_I suppose meditation will have to wait…_Obi-Wan managed to think. He blinked twice into the mattress, feeling the familiar warmth of sleep stealing up his back. He closed his eyes, and within a few moments, the young Knight was asleep.

_That night, Obi-Wan dreamed. It was hardly a rare occurrence, of course, because everyone dreamed. But this dream was particularly vivid, startling in its clarity. Obi- Wan was walking down the hallways of the Jedi Temple, at ease with the person trotting at his side. The person was speaking, talking about the latest speeder that had just come arrived on the market in excited tones. _

_Obi-Wan found that he could not turn his head to look at his companion, but he deduced that it was a young male human, a boy, someone bursting with energy. The endless chatter was strangely soothing; it felt normal, almost. The Jedi was content to let his companion talk, occasionally nodding to show he was listening._

_The other Jedi of the Temple, the Masters, Padawans, and Initiates, flicked in and out of view, doing what they normally did. Obi-Wan caught sight of Qui-Gon chatting idly with Master Dooku and he smiled at his old Master. Yoda stumped by, leaning on his gimmer stick. Mace Windu was leading a group of younglings around, talking about lightsaber combat. The normalcy of it was comforting to Obi-Wan, and he heard himself laugh at something his companion said._

"_Master, why did the nerf cross the sky lane?" The young boy asked._

"_I don't know, Padawan." Obi-Wan said, humoring the child. "Why?"_

"_To get to the other side!" _

Obi-Wan awoke to the irritating sun streaming through his window and the feeling of nostalgia deep in his stomach. The feeling was puzzling; he had never experienced the event in his dream. He had never taken a Padawan, not one in the eight years since Qui-Gon's death at the hands of the Zabrak Sith and his own Knighting.

Rolling out of bed, Obi-Wan shuffled to the kitchen, attempting to find something hot to drink. It wasn't that he didn't want a Padawan. The idea of a youngling to raise and teach was pleasing. But Obi- Wan had seen hundreds of young Initiates and none struck him as the kind of Padawan he would want. No one was the right match.

Sighing, Obi-Wan managed to brew himself a decent cup of tea. The stuff was hot in his throat, but he didn't mind. He found a set of Jedi robes and pulled them on, straitening them so he looked presentable and calm. With a wet comb he was able to make his unruly gingery hair lie flat and he trimmed his beard.

_I look awful. _Obi-Wan thought. There were shadows under his eyes, a testament to many late nights, and his skin was pale. _Today is going to be one of those days. _He clipped his lightsaber onto his belt, comforted by the familiar weight, gathered a few spare clothes, stuffed them in a sack, and left his rooms, heading for the hangar bay to borrowed a speeder and plunge into Coruscant traffic and head for the eastern landing docks. Master Windu said that his transport would be ready to take him the Outer Rim world of Nar Shaddaa, a known cesspool for pirates and smugglers, there.

On his way down, Obi-Wan watched those around him. The halls of the Temple were filled, as usual, and everyone was polite and friendly, nodding their greetings to Obi-Wan. They all thought he was a model Jedi, a man with purpose who followed the Code and did good Jedi deeds.

_I am a good Jedi. _Obi-Wan told himself. It didn't matter that he didn't feel like one, that he was often lonely, mournful, and bitter, spending his time brooding alone. _I am a good Jedi. _He repeated. _I am._ But the words felt empty in his head.

After eight years, he should have moved on. Qui-Gon was one with the Force. Dead. Gone. It was time to move on, to forget. But Obi- Wan couldn't find the strength to do it, to forget Qui-Gon and move on with his life. It was too painful.

_Today is going to be one of those days. _Obi-Wan thought dryly. By the end of the day, he was going to have a headache and his heart would be full of sadness and pain.

Arriving at the hangar bay, Obi-Wan selected a speeder and, rather reluctantly, entered the bustling Coruscant traffic. After fifteen minutes of obeying traffic laws and dodging those who did not, the Jedi arrived at the eastern docks. Parking his speeder, he looked for the transport that would take him to Nar Shaddaa. He spotted it down the row of transports, a solid gray hulk, waiting as beings streamed into it. Apparently Nar Shaddaa was the place to go.

"Knight Kenobi!" Someone vaguely familiar was waving Obi- Wan down, beckoning the young Jedi over towards the transport.

"You will be riding this transport to Nar Shaddaa, yes?" The speaker was a Jedi Obi- Wan recalled seeing in the hallways, a quiet female Togruta, the sort of Jedi who was content to organize missions, not participate in them. While that life seemed rather boring, at least _she _had time to meditate.

"Yes." Obi-Wan replied.

The Togruta nodded agreeably. "Good." She handed him a bag. "In here you will find credits, a comlink, and other items to aid in your mission. The codes to access your room on the transport and on Nar Shaddaa are also inside. I see you've brought some clothing of your own, and in there are also some to disguise yourself. Good luck."

"Thank you." Obi-Wan said, putting his spare clothes with the disguises. He was tempted to tell her that he didn't _need_ luck, but that would sound pompous, and pompous a good Jedi was not.

"You will be riding the transport to Nar Shaddaa. There will be several stops along the way and passengers will get on and off. Nar Shaddaa is the second-to-last stop before the transport begins its return journey."

Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. "Thank you."

"May the Force be with you." The Togrutan Jedi said.

"And with you." Obi-Wan replied with the customary response. He turned to face the transport. As a public transport, it would travel slowly, stopping at multiple worlds before arriving at Nar Shaddaa. He hated flying, and the transport did not look particularly stable, despite its massive size.

Sighing heavily, Obi-Wan walked to the transport, rummaging around for his pass. Showing it to the rather annoyed-looking Zabrak watching the door, he stepped on the transport. The ceiling was low and dimly lit, and the young Jedi immediately knew that this particular transporrt was for shadier beings.

_Wonderful. _He thought bitterly. _A long flight on a transport with criminals. _Now thoroughly annoyed, he wandered off in the direction of his cabin, warily watching the occupants. Several looked at him with shifty eyes, sizing him up, perhaps looking for credits or a reason to bother him. The Jedi steadily ignored them, turning down the hallway where his cabin was located and opening the door.

Obi-Wan's cabin was dingy and derelict, the bed looking like it already had some small insect inhabitants. Setting down his bags gingerly, the Jedi looked around gloomily. There was another set of luggage in a corner, and sure enough the 'fresher door was closed and someone was moving around inside it. Loudly. Employing the use of words in multiple languages that would get Obi-Wan sent to his rooms to meditate if he uttered any of them.

With a defeated sigh in the direction of the floor, Obi-Wan set his bags in the opposite corner and settled in a nearby rickety chair. He wasn't going to be doing any meditation during this trip.


	4. Three

"Normal speaking."

_Thoughts/dreams_.

"_Huttese words."_

_(Speaking in Huttese.)_

* * *

_Tatooine, 24 BBY_

The smallish room was darkened when Kitster Banai walked in, the dusty curtains drawn firmly shut to ward off the bright Tatooine suns. The young pirate could make out the outlines of many machines, some complete and others piles of scrap. There were shelves full of mechanical inventions and inside some of these lay datachips containing information, maps, and codes. A desk of sorts was settled off in the corner, several smaller machines, a battered datapad, and an ancient holoprojector scattered across it. In the middle of the mess, his head buried in his arms, rested a tall young man around Kitster's age.

"Hey, Cap." The pirate nudged the sleeping man lightly. "C'mon, time to get up." He prodded his friend again.

"Whazzagoinon?" The man sat up, blinking groggily. Seventeen-year-old Anakin Skywalker looked at Kitster somewhat reproachfully, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Kitster grinned at his friend affectionately. "It's time to go, _baatu baatu_." He said cheerfully. "Everyone's all ready to go, 'cept you."

"Mm." Anakin mumbled, blinking. "Kitster, 'm tired. Lemme sleep."

"Sorry, Cap." Kitster sang cheerfully. He seized the other man by his shoulder and pulled, forcing Anakin to get up, swipe the datapad and several datachips off the table, and follow his friend out of the tiny hut into the sun.

"Ow." Anakin had thrown up his right arm to shield his eyes and was now rubbing it, wincing.

"Be careful! That's your bad arm, remember?" Kitster scolded, letting the other go. He was shorter than Anakin by a few inches and his skin was darker, turned almost black by the Tatooine suns. He had dark, quick eyes and an easy grin, a scar on his cheek from a stray blaster bolt, and short- cropped black hair that stuck up wildly. A blaster was holstered at his belt and he was stout and well- muscled from years of hard work.

"Now I do." Anakin said, slightly more coherent. "It's early." He defended himself. "You'd forget too." Anakin was the opposite of Kitster, tall, thin, and blonde, with hair long enough to show a curl and bright blue eyes. He had plenty of scars on his bared arms but none on his face and he was wiry, quick-looking, with a world-weary air under his good nature, especially in the early morning.

"It's not that early, actually." Kitster corrected. He pulled Anakin's hand away from his arm, examining the long, dark red scar that went from Anakin's elbow to halfway up his arm. "Anakin, you should really see a doctor or something." He said worriedly. "It's been almost two years now. If it was going to get better, it would have by now."

"I'm not going to see a doctor." Anakin said flatly. "They'll only tell me that I gotta get my arm cut off. My arm is fine, _baatu_. You worry too much."

Kitster snorted. "Yeah. So whenever you try and lift it, it doesn't hurt."

"It's fine. I can pilot with it. I'm left- handed, anyway." Anakin said firmly. "Now c'mon, let's go. Seek won't be happy if we keep him waiting."

Sighing, Kitster agreed and the pair walked away from the hut and into a large, mazelike canyon. The suns were nearly halfway through the sky, baking the deserts of Tatooine, but the smooth stones of the canyons, too far from the suns and their heat, were cool.

After several minutes of walking, Anakin and Kitster turned a corner and arrived at a seemingly smooth, impossible to climb wall. At the top, a large cave yawned and the silver flash of a sleek ship could be seen.

"Wald didn't put the _Lady _back far enough." Anakin observed.

"Wald never puts the _Lady _back far enough." Kitster pointed out. "Good thing Seek knows how to put the _Dragon_ away." He said cheerfully. The _Dragon-Speaker _was Kitster's personal ship, a _Redthorn-_class scout ship designed for law enforcement. It was the _Dragon_ that went in first, scoping out for the _Lady_ and the third ship in the pirate fleet, the _Moderation._

Anakin snorted, irritated. He treated the _Red Lady _like she was his child. He even talked to her on occasion. He walked up to the wall and shouted up in Huttese. (_Wald, open the door.) _Someone called from inside the wall, and with a loud, rusting creak, a part of the rock wall swung inward, revealing another dank cavern, this one lit up by torches, mostly because Anakin couldn't steal away the power needed without attracting unwanted attention.

_(Aye, Cap!)_

Anakin and Kitster went inside, nodding to W. Wald, a Rodian, and climbed up the set of roughly hewn stairs. Behind them Wald closed the door and bolted it, following his friends up the stairs.

_(Cap, with the _Moderation _inside, there isn't enough room in the cave for the _Lady.) Wald explained. (_And Hondo won't move her to make room.)_

_(He's a trouble maker, Hondo.)_ Kitster muttered. (_He won't stay with us for long. He wants more.)_

_(I'll be sad to see him go.) _Anakin said wistfully. (_He's a good pirate. He'll go far, someday.)_

_(I don't think he likes be under your leadership. He finds it insulting and a blow to his pride to have to listen to you and Kitster.)_ Wald chirped. (_He still thinks you a boy, Cap.)_

Anakin rolled his eyes, reaching the top of the stairs. (_He can think whatever he wants. As long as he does what he's told, I've got no problem with him.)_

Kitster and Wald nodded agreeably. Anakin's pirates were loose and relaxed. As long as no one turned traitor and everyone did their work, there were no problems.

Another door opened to reveal the makeshift hangar bay, the cave in which all three ships were docked. Hondo Ohnaka and his Weequay pirates Turk Falso and Pilf Mukmuk were leaning against the _Moderation, _Hondo's _Flarestar_-class ship. The circular ship was well- polished and neat, in better shape than the rather battered _Dragon_ and _Lady. _Anakin's ship was the largest, a sleek silver and yellow _Roh- _class shuttle that Anakin picked up on Nar Shaddaa and modified for the life of a pirate ship. Seek was waiting patiently by the _Dragon_, his red hair vibrant even in the dark. He and Kitster were the only ones who flew in the _Dragon_. The _Red Lady _was the only ship that could carry everyone, but Anakin usually flew her with Melee, Wald, and Jonash Solo, a man the gang found on Iego, homeless and drunk.

"Are we ready to go, my friends?" Anakin called out, gleefully rubbing his hands together.

The assembled pirates roared happily. They hadn't been out raiding for over a week and the pirates were eager to get back to business.

"What's the plan, Cap?" Jonash shouted.

Anakin grinned. "Same as usual." He trotted over to the battered holoprojecter that sat in the center of the room and stuck a datachip in the slot. A map of the Nar Hutta system sprang up, its famous "Smuggler's Moon" revolving peacefully. "There's going to be a small band of smugglers, in three or four ships, leaving Nar Shaddaa in three days. They're carrying spices, weapons, and slaves."

A collective hiss went around the room. With the exception of Jonash, every single pirate had touched by some form of slavery. The Weequay pirates, all of whom had lost relatives to the roaming bands of slavers, were particularly fierce in freeing slaves, hoping to find some lost family member or other. No pirate was quite as ferocious in fighting slavers than Anakin, but, Kitster rationalized, that was to be expected.

"So we pounce on the smugglers when they are clear of the system? Before they reach hyperspace?" Hondo asked.

Anakin nodded. "Aye. The _Dragon _will be in the system first and alert us when the smugglers leave."

"Aye, Cap." Kitster said. Seek grinned, his face flushing with excitement.

"When you call us, Hondo and I'll bring our ships down and deal with the smugglers. And Hondo, let's not destroy the ships this time. There are slaves aboard, and we don't want to kill them."

The Weequay pirate nodded reluctantly. "We will hold back."

"Good." Anakin nodded, satisfied. "_Boska!_"

The pirate gang cheered and began to climb into the ships, brimming with excitement. Anakin was last to board the _Lady _and he turned to look for Kitster.

"_Baatu baatu._" He called. "Don't get lost this time!"

"_Choy? _I did _not _get lost!" Kitster roared, outraged, but Anakin was already gone, laughing. Kitster smiled despite himself and climbed into his ship. "C'mon, Seek. We're leading the way."

"Again?" The redhead grumbled. "Ah, fine."

Still smiling, Kitster Banai settled into the pilot's chair and started his ship. Looking out to see that his comrades were clear, he guided her forward and accelerated, swinging the _Dragon-Speaker_ out into the open desert and up into space, his _baatu_ hot on his heels.

* * *

A Glossary of Huttese Words and Phrases (in Order of Appearance)

_Baatu baatu_- Brother

_Boska-_ Let's Go

_Choy_- What?


	5. Four

A/N: Hi, everyone. Firstly, I want to apologize for leaving this story alone for over a year. There was a lot of crap going on and I lost interest and a whole bunch of other excuses you probably have no interest in. Second, I want to thank each and every person who reviewed. I think you all are fantastic, lovely people and deserve cookies and good karma.

I am restarting this, hopefully updating somewhat regularly, and I am also going back to edit previous chapters. If you find errors, please let me know so I can take care of them! Thank you very, very much!

* * *

_Nar Shaddaa, 24 BBY_

"There ain't no pirates here!" The bartender snarled, and hurled Obi-Wan out into the street. He hit the ground hard, grunting at the impact, and aimed a haphazard glare in the direction of the stocky Zabrak. The bartender bared his teeth at the fallen Jedi and slammed the door shut, the force causing it to rattle, effectively shutting Obi-Wan out of his presence.

Muttering under his breath, Obi-Wan climbed to his feet, attempting to brush off the sludge and filth that he had acquired from the ground.

Several bits of trash, slimly things, and mud tumbled to the alley ground and Obi-Wan stalked out, back into the gaudy brightness of the main streets, wincing and rubbing his leg.

He'd been on Nar Shaddaa, the cesspool of sentient life, in his opinion, for two days. He'd canvassed at least two dozen bars and cantinas, talking to hundreds of patrons, and purchased far too many alcoholic beverages (so far, his favorite had been the Flameout) and he had _nothing. _

The pirates he was searching for were clever indeed, and unnaturally cunning, to hide themselves as well as they were. No one had heard anything but the rumors and the aftermath—the pirate crew was vicious, was strong, and only attacked Hutt ships, leaving no survivors among the smuggling crews.

It was rumored that they sometimes freed slaves, though none of these slaves had ever said a word regarding their liberators, and it was also said that the pirates had a home base somewhere deep in Hutt territory. None of this really helped the young Jedi, unfortunately.

Yes, it was rather interesting that the pirates freed slaves (perhaps they had been slaves, once upon a time, or had lost family to slavers) and it was telling of their fearlessness that they could have a base in Hutt territory, but Hutt territory was everywhere in the Outer Rim and so were former slaves, and the information was so vague that it was useless.

And Obi-Wan was tired. He was filthy and exhausted and he just wanted to go _home_and meditate, wanted to chase out all his un-Jedi-like feelings, but instead he was stuck here, on Nar Shaddaa, chasing ghosts in the wind and getting himself thrown into smelly alleys.

_I need a drink. _

He wandered down the streets, feeling naked in his spacer clothes—ragged pants, dirty white shirt, battered belt, dinged blaster—and missing the weight of his robes. His lightsaber was still with him, tucked firmly against his waist, but that was all he had to remind him that he was still a Jedi. His hair was now black and cut short, his beard gone, his eyes turned brown by special lenses. A fake scar spanned his nose and a fake burn crept up the back of his neck.

And he wore his usual blank, empty face, his color-changed eyes flat and expressionless.

All in all, he looked very dangerous, hard and wild, a tough man. This had been somewhat useful; since he looked like a pirate, others were more willing to share information (once he'd loosened their mouths with alcohol, but still) concerning pirates.

Obi-Wan continued down the street, his eyes flickering over the multitude of bars that advertised themselves with neon signs and loud music.

It was amazing, really, how much Nar Shaddaa resembled Coruscant on the surface. Both were planet cities, with huge skyscrapers and neon signs. Both were hubs of a sort, and both were teeming with every sort of life imaginable, and as a result, centers of Force-energy.

But Nar Shaddaa was dark and dingy—the skyscrapers were rough and dirty, some literally threatening to fall apart. The inhabitants of the Smuggler's Moon were a wilder sort—the most sophisticated were the gang bosses, eating fine food while someone else died brutally in the next room.

And Nar Shaddaa, unlike Coruscant, was a swirling mass of Darkness. All the fear and pain and anger the inhabitants felt was echoed in the Force energy; it was as Dark as any Sith, and frankly, it was _choking_.

Which, again, led to Obi-Wan wishing he was home, in the Temple, meditating and letting the Light rush through him.

He felt like a sullen child; he'd been refused what he wanted and now he was sulking.

_Master Qui-Gon would be upset. _

The thought was enough to jar Obi-Wan out of his moody musings and force him to pay attention to his surroundings. He was walking along another street, this one narrower, the dark doorways of the cantinas spitting out heavy music, unwanted drinkers, and the reek of vomit and booze.

Obi-Wan stopped in front of a hole-in-the-wall and, deciding that it was as good of a place as any, stepped inside.

Instantly, everyone's eyes flicked to him, and the Jedi fought the urge to swallow nervously.

There were close to a hundred patrons in the bar, of all different species—humans and Twi'leks, Krish and Wookies, Bith and Falleen—and every single one, even the prostitutes dancing in the smoky light, stopped to stare at the Jedi-in-disguise.

Each and every individual was ragged, covered in dirt and grime, scarred, and missing either limbs, teeth, or facial expressions.

Obi-Wan actually felt over-dressed.

"What be yer business?" The barkeeper, a weedy-looking Chiss, growled, stepping out from behind the bar and advancing towards Obi-Wan, his red eyes flashing.

"I'd like to buy a drink."

The Chiss sneered. "Little _clean _t' be buying drinks here, ain't ye?"

Obi-Wan kept his gaze level as the blue-skinned being came closer. "Little poor to be refusing paying customers, aren't you?" He swept his eyes around the cantina—it was small and cramped, the chairs and tables were wobbling, and there were holes in the walls and ceilings.

Clearly, despite the number of patrons in the cantina, the place was struggling.

The Chiss bared his teeth and several patrons, big, muscular fellows, half-stood, rumbling to themselves.

"Take it easy." Someone from the bar called.

Obi-Wan identified a young man, a stout kid with short, spiky dark hair and darker eyes, sitting at the bar, swiveling in his stool, surveying the scene with an air of mild amusement.

"He's with me." The kid continued. "We're talking business."

The Chiss nodded and backed off, though he still glared at the Jedi.

Obi-Wan smirked at him and strode over to the kid, settling down beside him.

"Mudbeer." Said the kid, gesturing at Obi-Wan, and the Chiss sullenly started filling a dirty glass.

Obi-Wan studied the kid curiously. He couldn't be older than eighteen, but he had authority here. The others in the cantina watched the kid, waiting to see what he would do and how he handled Obi-Wan.

It was fascinating.

"Do you have it?" The kid said, authoritively. He turned and the Jedi saw a scar on his cheek and a blaster holstered at his hip. The kid was dark-skinned, not like Windu but definitely not one of the pale humans from Naboo or Alderaan. And he was covering for Obi-Wan, which was interesting.

"Yes." The Jedi said, playing along. The Chiss bartender handed him his mudbeer. He didn't drink it—the Chiss probably spit in it.

"Good." Said the kid. "Come with me." He stood and hopped off the stool, leaving his drink. Obi-Wan did the same, following the shorter into a corner as the cantina came back to life. The music stared and the dancers began to dance again, the low hum of converstation washing over the pair.

The kid stopped and studied Obi-Wan. "What's your business here, stranger?" He asked, short and flat.

The Jedi watched him. "Why did you cover for me?"

"You're different." The kid shrugged. "You're interesting. Not many people like you wander around in this part of Nar Shaddaa."

"People like me?"

"Yeah, people looking for something. No one looks for anything here."

Obi-Wan kept his face blank. "Maybe I'm different."

The kid laughed, short and bark-like. "You are, _ootmian_, you are." He grinned. "So what're you looking for? Crewmates? Old business partners?"

_Now or never, Kenobi. _

"Pirates." He said.

The young man shifted, his face curious but still. Through the Force, Obi-Wan felt a sense of thinking; the kid was turning over the words in his head.

"Pirates." He repeated. "Any particular crew?"

"I'm looking for the crew that's been bothering the Hutts." Here Obi-Wan fingered his blaster and let a slight look of admiration slide across his face. "I was wondering if maybe they'd be interested in business with me."

"The Hutt Pirates?" The kid's face went still. He leaned back, studying the Jedi quietly. "I've heard of them. They're the ones who attack only Hutt ships, right? They operate around here, sometimes, catch the spice freighters as they clear the system. But no one knows who they are, what they look like, or even what kind of ships they use. They're ghosts, _ootmian, _phantoms, nightmares. If I was you, I'd quit looking."

_Interesting. _The kid was almost defensive, his face shut down, his dark eyes glittering. He seemed protective, almost, of these Hutt Pirates.

"There's no such things as ghosts." Obi-Wan told the kid, gently reaching out with the Force, brushing his mind. "Sooner or later, someone's going to expose this crew, and then—"

Suddenly, Obi-Wan was up against the wall, the kid pressed against him, hands painfully tight around Obi-Wan's wrists.

"I'd be careful," he warned. "Around here, those pirates are something like local heroes. You never know who you might offend with your questions, and some of these types around here can get _violent _when provoked."

"I'm not looking for trouble." The Jedi said, placating. He nudged the kid's mind, trying to make him let go. The kid held fast.

"You're looking for the Hutt Pirates. That's pretty much the same thing, _ootmian._ Who do you think you are, walking around here with your questions like you're some sort of Jedi?"

Obi-Wan fought off the urge to run at the kid's statement. _He doesn't know, Kenobi. He's just making a point. _

"Stop looking." The kid said, slowly and clearly. "You're not going to find anything, and you'll just get yourself killed." He let go of Obi-Wan, backing up, the scar sharp against his face, his eyes serious and glittering. "Bartender!" He called, and the Chiss came over, his crimson eyes venomous.

"Yes?"

The kid jerked his chin at Obi-Wan. "Our business is done."

The Chiss shouted something and several of the muscular patrons stood and lumbered over. Obi-Wan leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

He knew where this was going.

He was lifted and violently tossed into the alley, once again coated with filth as the door slammed shut, the music and lights cut off.

The kid with dark eyes watched until the door slammed.

_That was informative. _The Jedi thought dryly, once again picking himself up and dusting off the slime and garbage. And it was—the kid was connected somehow, Obi-Wan was sure of it. The Force was pulsing, telling him that the kid, with his dark eyes and his scarred face, was involved with the pirates.

Maybe he'd been one of the slaves that had been freed. Maybe he was a family member of one of the crew. Maybe he hated the Hutts and protecting the pirates was his way of getting back at them.

There were a hundred similar possibilities, but the kid was involved and he was the best lead that the Jedi had gotten so far, so Obi-Wan brushed himself of and lurked in the alley, watching for the kid.

Several hours passed and the Jedi slipped into a light meditation, keeping his senses aware of everyone who entered or exited the cantina. From his place in the shadows, Obi-Wan watched as several of the patrons left, all in varying stages of drunkenness, giving him brief flashes of how crowded the place was.

By 0300 hours, only the kid was left in the bar and the side door was propped open, giving the Jedi a good view through which he observed. The kid finished his drink, said something to the Chiss, and then made his way around the bar—

And disappeared.

For several moments, Obi-Wan waited for him to reappear. When he didn't, the Jedi-in-disguise swore and darted around the back. Sure enough, there was a small door swinging shut, and a shadow vanishing down another alley.

As quietly as he could, Obi-Wan followed the shadow, his fingers itching towards his blaster and his concealed lightsaber. The sound of talking filtered through the shadowed alleyways, oddly distorted and more than a little disconcerting.

Finally, a neon sign splashed light into the alleyway and Obi-Wan caught sight of his prey; the kid had stopped, standing in a pool of pinkish light, talking on a battered, scratched commlink.

"_Baatu baatu,_" he was saying. He was speaking in Huttese (_damn him_) and Obi-Wan understood maybe one word in three, straining to hear, to understand.

"Asking….questions… be…lookout…take…things here." Obi-Wan heard (and translated). The kid started to speak faster, his words blurring past all recognition for the Jedi, and he swore softly, though he had just gained a valuable clue.

"_Mee jewz ku._" The kid murmured, signaling the end of the conversation, and Obi-Wan felt something cold slide down his mind, and then the young man spun, drawing his blaster and loosing four or five bolts, rapid-fire. Obi-Wan swore to himself and dove to the side, sliding in gunk, the red bolts flying all around him.

"_A'chu apenkee?" _The kid bellowed. "_Hi chuba de naga?_"

Obi-Wan didn't answer, instead choosing to lie on the ground, breathing shallowly, praying to the Force he was not discovered.

"Who are you?" He repeated in Basic, still loud and angry. "What do you want?"

The Jedi pressed himself into the deepest shadows he could find, his hand curled around the cool hilt of his lightsaber.

The kid made a derogatory sound in his throat and spat, muttering under his breath, and then turned and bounded swiftly away.

Obi-Wan didn't follow; he knew that the kid wouldn't go to the pirates, not now, when he thought he was being followed. No, the kid would run around Nar Shaddaa, shooting at shadows. Following him would make it worse.

The disguised Jedi waited for his heart to slow, processing everything he had learned today.

The pirates were known as the Hutt Pirates. They freed slaves, who in turn were loyal to them. They found sympathy in those who hated the Hutts. Some were fanatically loyal to them, possibly killing any bounty hunters (or unfortunate Jedi Knights) who came sniffing around. The pirates had a serious grudge against the Hutts, probably because they came from a Hutt-controlled land. They were thought to have a base in a Hutt territory and they spoke Huttese, if the kid's call was anything to go by

And, perhaps the most important bit of information; the dark-eyed kid with the scar on his face most likely knew one or more of the crewmembers personally, because on the comm he had called the other speaker "brother". The "brother" might not be a part of the Hutt Pirates, but the Force was telling Obi-Wan that the dark kid, his "brother," and the pirates were all connected.

Obi-Wan resolved to come back to this area in the morning, ask around, see if anyone knew who the kid was.

He was the link to everything, Obi-Wan just _knew _it.

Sighing, running a hand through his short, dyed hair, he stepped from the shadows and began the long, muddy trek back to his dingy room.

He got about twenty-five feet before he realized that the kid's blaster bolt had grazed his arm, opening a shiny red weal on his skin.

The wound was short and straight, and, horrifyingly, covered in some type of slime from the shadowy corner in which Obi-Wan had taken refuge.

Gross, greenish, oozing, bacteria-infested slime.

On an open wound.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

Oh joy.


End file.
